


behave, my heart

by sarahyyy



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Office Sex, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1618187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not a thing that he talks about, but if it were, Enjolras would tell everyone that it is 100% Courfeyrac’s fault.</p><p>If Courfeyrac hadn’t planned the stupid office party and forced Enjolras to go, Enjolras wouldn’t have ended up hating the universe enough to get drunk off his ass. If Enjolras hadn’t gotten drunk, he wouldn’t have ended up in the filing room, with Grantaire’s legs wrapped around his waist, and his cock buried deep inside Grantaire’s ass, Grantaire moaning all kinds of filth into his ear. </p><p>(Or, the one where Grantaire is Enjolras' secretary.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	behave, my heart

**Author's Note:**

> So Beth posted an [Office AU headcanon](http://besanii.tumblr.com/post/84925911288/i-crave-e-r-office-sex-enjolras-and-grantaire) the other day and somehow I ended up writing piningjolras, idek how, but I blame it all on Beth.

“Christ, R,” Enjolras bites out, sagging back into his chair, his fingers in Grantaire’s curls loosening. 

Grantaire pulls off Enjolras’ cock and presses a kiss to the inside of his thigh before he makes his way back up from under Enjolras’ desk. 

His eyes dart to the clock on Enjolras’ wall. “You just missed your 2 p.m. conference call with Lamarque,” he tells Enjolras. The smirk on his face is smug as hell, and the scowl Enjolras directs at him as he tucks himself back into his trousers does nothing to discourage it. “Do you need me to reschedule it for you?”

Enjolras’ scowl deepens, and Grantaire lets out a laugh at that before he leans down to press a kiss to the corner of Enjolras’ lips. 

“I’ll reschedule it at 3 p.m.,” he tells Enjolras before he makes his way out of Enjolras’ office, and Enjolras counts it as a success that he doesn’t stop Grantaire from leaving this time, doesn’t push him down to the couch and kiss every inch of him until he’s hard and squirming, begging for Enjolras to let him come. 

It’s progress.

—

It’s not a thing that he talks about, but if it were, Enjolras would tell everyone that it is 100% Courfeyrac’s fault.

If Courfeyrac hadn’t planned the stupid office party and forced Enjolras to go, Enjolras wouldn’t have ended up hating the universe enough to get drunk off his ass. If Enjolras hadn’t gotten drunk, he wouldn’t have ended up in the filing room, with Grantaire’s legs wrapped around his waist, and his cock buried deep inside Grantaire’s ass, Grantaire moaning all kinds of filth into his ear. 

And if that hadn’t happened, maybe he would have been able to maintain a proper working relationship with his secretary, instead of having Grantaire smirk at him all the bloody time, like he knows what Enjolras is thinking about, like he knows that Enjolras thinks about pushing Grantaire against the wall and kissing that stupid smirk off his face. 

Yes, it’s all Courfeyrac’s fault.

—

“You’ve got a lunch thing with Mr. Valjean in an hour.”

Enjolras hums and looks up from his paperwork, intending to tell Grantaire to bring him the files from Valjean’s account, but he freezes the moment he sets eyes on Grantaire, because Grantaire is wearing glasses, black rimmed hipster glasses that looks stupidly sexy on him.

“Is there a problem?” Grantaire asks, the corner of his lips tipping up, and fuck, he’s doing this on purpose, Enjolras hates him so fucking much. 

“I hate you so fucking much,” Enjolras says, but sets his pen down on the table and neatly stacks his papers together and puts them away. 

“Are you finally going to fuck me on your desk?” Grantaire asks, gleeful, and Enjolras can’t help but to scowl at him.

“If the glasses stay on and your mouth stays shut, maybe,” Enjolras tells Grantaire, only for Grantaire to laugh, making his way to Enjolras, letting Enjolras push him against his desk, grip on Grantaire’s hip firm and tight.

“Can’t keep my mouth shut, Boss,” Grantaire says, sighing when Enjolras brushes his lips over his jaw. “You like it too much when I beg.” 

(He ends up barely making it to the lunch with Valjean on time, but he can’t bring himself to regret anything, because the glasses stay.)

—

The thing is, Grantaire is too smart to be working as his secretary. He’s seen Grantaire put a few first year associates at the firm in their place by spewing out case law and legislation, and knows that he soaks in knowledge like a sponge, and barely uses them except for when he needs to, and it’s a thing that bothers Enjolras because he knows Grantaire could be so much _more_. 

He tried asking Grantaire about it once, but Grantaire had shut the conversation down and taken the rest of the day off so fast that Enjolras was literally left standing in the pantry, staring at the spot Grantaire just vacated.

Grantaire had apologised by coming into work the same time Enjolras did, which was an hour before everyone else came in. They spent the hour on the oversized armchair in Enjolras’ office, Grantaire straddling him, pressing wet and messy kisses to Enjolras as he jerked them both off together. 

—

“Hey,” Grantaire’s voice is soft in his ear as he shakes him awake, “it’s almost midnight, you should go home.” 

Enjolras blinks the sleep out of himself slowly. He’d fallen asleep on his desk, and he would really be more embarrassed about it if he weren’t so tired. “I can’t,” he tells Grantaire. “I need to work out if we have a viable case, and if not, I need to advise on a suitable settlement. The client is coming in tomorrow and I’m not leaving my office until I get it all sorted out.”

“Enjolras—”

“If you force me to go home, I will fire you,” Enjolras says, but the yawn that follows straight after the sentence makes the threat a lot less menacing than he’d meant for it to sound. 

Grantaire grins at him, and ruffles his hair. “Tell me what I’m looking for,” he says with a sigh, appropriating one of Enjolras’ files. “And oh, I’m getting supper delivered and you’re paying for it.”

Enjolras thinks about saying no, about sending Grantaire back home, about telling Grantaire that he can handle this on his own, but Grantaire is toeing off his shoes and settling down in the chair on the opposite side of the table, and the thought of powering through the night seems less horrible with Grantaire around, so he just huffs a laugh and says, “We’ll bill it to the firm.”

—

Enjolras realises he has feelings for Grantaire that exceeds what he’s supposed to be feeling for Grantaire when Grantaire calls in sick one morning and Enjolras’ first instinct is to look up the employee files, find out where Grantaire lives, and bring him soup. 

The revelation doesn’t startle him as much as it should, and that is what scares Enjolras. Grantaire is distracting and loud and ridiculous, and Enjolras has no time for him beyond what they’re doing right now, but he finds that he wants to make time for Grantaire, wants to bring Grantaire flowers and ask him on a date and hold his hand and bring Grantaire back to his apartment.

But he can’t, because him having feelings for Grantaire doesn’t change anything. 

It’s not a thing, _they’re_ not a thing, and it’s fine.

It is. 

—

“You’re a very antagonistic person,” Enjolras breathes the words into Grantaire’s skin, mouths over his collarbone and sucks a mark low enough for his shirt to cover. 

“Of course I am.” Grantaire’s laughter is shaky and breathless, body arching up against Enjolras, pressing them even closer together. “How else would I be able to get your attention?”

It sounds like a joke, Grantaire probably means it to be a joke, but Enjolras wants to answer him, wants to tell Grantaire that he doesn’t have to try anything to get his attention, that Enjolras’ attention is all on him even when he tries not to let it be. 

He settles for pulling Grantaire closer, sealing his mouth over Grantaire’s, stealing Grantaire’s breath for his own.

It’s not enough, but it’ll have to be.

—

Enjolras’ head fucking hurts. He’s pretty sure he’s been reading the same sentence for the past fifteen minutes, hoping for the throbbing pain in his head to dull. So far, it’s not working out very well for him, which is just great for him, since he has three appointments in his calendar for this afternoon. 

He curses when someone —Grantaire, probably— knocks on the door, because loud sounds aren’t helping his migraine right now. 

“I have the files you need for this afternoon,” Grantaire says, making a face at the thick files he’s carrying as he sets them on Enjolras’ table. “You might want to look through the Durham file—” He drifts off when he looks up and sees Enjolras. “You look like shit,” he says, and frowns when Enjolras doesn’t even bother to scowl at him.

He looks— He looks _concerned_ , and the thought shouldn’t make Enjolras’ heart skip a beat, but it does. It’s not his fault; Enjolras can’t control things like that. 

He’s going to blame the migraine later for the fact that he stands up from his chair and rounds the table to get to Grantaire, cupping his cheek and pressing his lips to Grantaire’s slow and deep and lingering, pulling Grantaire flush against him and revelling in the way he feels Grantaire shiver against him. 

“How do you want me?” Grantaire breathes out when they part. 

Enjolras swallows, and the words come out from him before he’s had a chance to think them through, “Just like this.” He presses his face in the crook of Grantaire’s neck and just focuses on breathing for a few seconds before he turns his head and presses a kiss to Grantaire’s jaw.

He moves to step away from Grantaire but Grantaire catches his wrist and asks, “What’s wrong?”

Enjolras sighs before he tells Grantaire about his migraine. “It’s nothing,” he says dismissively. “It’ll go away if I ignore it. It always has.” 

But Grantaire doesn’t let go of his wrist, starts pulling him away from his work desk and towards the couch on the other side of the room instead, and Enjolras lets himself be led without fuss. He somehow ends up with his head in Grantaire’s lap, eyes shut as Grantaire massages his temples in calming circles. 

“If you bothered to sleep more and work less, this wouldn’t happen,” Grantaire tells him, but there’s no heat in his voice, and he sounds terribly fond. 

Enjolras is suddenly glad that his eyes are closed because he’s pretty sure that he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from blurting his feelings for Grantaire out if he’s looking at him, so he says instead, “If I worked less and rested more, no-one would be signing your paycheques.” 

Grantaire snorts and Enjolras feels him lean down to press a kiss to his hairline. “I’m going to cancel all your appointments today, and you’re going to go back and rest. I think my paycheque can wait,” he tells Enjolras. “You don’t get a say in this.”

Enjolras lets out a groan when Grantaire’s fingers press down just so, and he isn’t thinking clearly, which is why he says, “I think sometimes you forget that I’m your boss.” 

He knows instinctively that it’s the wrong thing to say because he feels Grantaire tense up. 

There is a short silence before Grantaire replies, “Trust me, Apollo, I never forget.”

He runs the words through his head after Grantaire leaves his office and has to suck in a sharp breath because the picture they are painting here is starting to get clearer — Grantaire is his secretary, he signs Grantaire’s paycheques, and there is a significant imbalance of power here, and _fuck_ , what if Grantaire didn’t think he could say no to Enjolras?

The thought makes him sick, and the throbbing in his head starts all over again. He’s never thought about how things are between them in this light. He’s in a position of authority, and he’s got, well, coerced consent from Grantaire, at best. What if Grantaire never wanted him all those times before but didn’t know how to tell Enjolras? What if Grantaire still _doesn’t_ want him now but rolls along with it because he’s afraid of losing his job? 

He rubs a hand over his face. “Fuck.” 

—

He tries for putting distance between him and Grantaire, hoping to convey to Grantaire without actually having to have the awful _you know how I’ve basically been pressuring you into having casual sex with me_ conversation that he’s sorry, that he’s not going to keep making Grantaire have sex with him. It should make him feel better that he’s trying to fix this, but he catches the looks Grantaire send him when Grantaire thinks he isn’t looking, and starts to _miss_ him, and it’s ridiculous how much he can miss Grantaire when Grantaire is just _right there_ , outside his office, separated by one wall. 

He resolutely turns himself back to his work, pours himself into his cases, because if he doesn’t have time to think about Grantaire, he won’t end up doing anything stupid. 

—

It is two weeks into him distancing himself from Grantaire that Grantaire comes into his office and hands him a letter. 

“What’s this?” Enjolras asks, frowning.

“It’s my resignation letter,” Grantaire says quietly, and when all Enjolras can do is to stare at him, he continues, “It’s okay, I’ve got another job lined up at _Montparnasse & Associés_. I figured I’d save you from the pain of trying to figure out how to fire me.”

Enjolras blinks at him, confused. “I’m not trying to figure out how to fire you, Grantaire, what the fuck? I don’t want to fire you.”

“Bullshit,” Grantaire snaps, and then sighs. “You got tired of me,” he says, and Enjolras doesn’t know what is going on here, only that everything is _wrong_ , “and the next logical thing was to get rid of me, but you’re a fair person, a nice person, and—” He lets out a noise of frustration and his gaze drops from Enjolras’ face to the ground. “You wouldn’t have fired me until I fucked up, and I’m actually good at my job, so the chances of me fucking up were slim, and I didn’t want to have to purposely do something wrong just to get fired, and you were getting so uncomfortable, so, I just— I’m making it easier. I quit.”

“I took advantage of you,” Enjolras blurts out. 

Grantaire’s head snaps up at that. “What?”

“I took advantage of you,” Enjolras says again, in a rush, and the words make his stomach churn but he needs to get this out. “I was in a position of power and I made you sleep with me.”

Grantaire gapes. “You— You think you were twisting my arm to make me sleep with you? Christ, Enjolras, are you fucking _dim_ , have you even seen yourself in a mirror?”

“That doesn’t mean—” Enjolras interrupts, but Grantaire doesn’t let him finish.

“And the sex is great.” Enjolras tracks the trail Grantaire’s tongue makes across his lips. “The sex is really, _really_ great, and I missed that.” Grantaire swallows, and then continues, “I missed going down on my knees for you, I missed having you inside me. I didn’t know what I was doing wrong, you just suddenly stopped wanting me, and I figured it was because I got too boring for you, or because you finally figured out that I am—”

“That you are?” Enjolras prompts, heart thudding in his chest as he makes his way to Grantaire, stands close enough that he can feel the heat Grantaire’s body is radiating, and fuck, he’s missed this too. 

“That I am _stupid_ over you,” Grantaire breathes out, and Enjolras stops breathing. “Fuck, I tried so hard not to be obvious about it because I thought you wouldn’t want me if you thought it could get complicating, but I’ve been stupid in love with you for a really long time now, and I…” he trails off when Enjolras takes his hand in his. “Enjolras—”

“I’ve been doing the same thing,” Enjolras admits, and huffs out a laugh at that. “I wanted to bring you soup when you were sick, I wanted to send you flowers, I wanted to hold your hand in public, fuck, R, _I’m_ stupid over _you_.” He takes Grantaire’s face in his hands and kisses him hard. He fists his hand in Grantaire’s hair, and pulls him even closer, and Grantaire responds by wrapping his arms around Enjolras’ waist, pressing himself close. 

Enjolras doesn’t ever want to lose the feeling of giddy happiness when Grantaire’s body is pressed tightly against his and Grantaire’s breath is warm on his face. 

“I guess this means I don’t have to resign?” Grantaire asks breathlessly, hair mussed, lips red and swollen, glasses askew on his face, but he’s grinning at Enjolras, and he looks so happy that Enjolras can’t help but to grin back, to take Grantaire’s glasses off and put it on his desk, and move in to kiss Grantaire breathless again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here on tumblr](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com/), come say hi! :D


End file.
